Sonnet #8

The light has all but vanished from this world

Hopes and dreams are all but a distant thought

Fear, despair, and hate are all that is heard

And painful screams of battles not yet fought

The virus doth lay low the weak and strong

While soldiers in blue kill without remorse

And we are left to wonder for how long

Are we to travel down this wretched course?

I know not how, or why, or even when

This great torment shall ever come to pass

It feels like pain unceasing without end

Like fire scorching unchecked across the grass

Even if we all are healed in some way

I fear that it will be a far-off day